


Shadow of Devils

by mollymauked



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Chipped Cup (Once Upon a Time), Episode: s01e12 Skin Deep, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lost Love, Nostalgia, Past Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Pre-Evil Queen | Regina Mills's First Dark Curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 05:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20334565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauked/pseuds/mollymauked
Summary: And now all he had was a teacup.





	Shadow of Devils

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of this franchise.

* * *

Belle takes...took her tea at noon. There had been all sorts when she had lived here. Or was trapped a better word? Nevertheless, each day had a time for tea to be taken and small sandwiches as snacks. She would have insisted, persisted with such a feverish, foolish notion, that it was a _we_ and not singular. It wasn't as if he was a drinker himself, in fact, he had grown to despise it in his year...now it was pure rage at the very sight of it. Alas, that was then and it was now and Belle had left and he was...alone.

_Again_.

As he sits at his spinning wheel, with golden thread between his fingertips, gliding along claws that could have dragged along a Kingdom's throat...once upon a time, it's tea that spills in his mind. The very thought upon his tongue made chills sweep throughout his body. 

_What a vile, ridiculous, unnecessary thing._

_Tea._

His foot halts, a pedal no longer pressed, and his shoulders tense at the very thought of _it_. A head lifts, to eye a clock, whom ticks far too loudly for the Rumpel's liking, and it's far past noon, and the moon has risen.

<strike>Belle took her tea at</strike>

_No, no more. No more dreaming of what was lost. _

Magic could not fix this. What was dead was dead and buried. And his hands were stained. Insides burn and swirl, bile started to rise until he swiftly swallowed it back down. His fingers felt all funny, and not in the way he had grown to crave. Palms grew with sweat, and an unfamiliar itch began to form. His nose wrinkles as he scrunched up his face with such vexation, crows feet at his eyes. 

Something is terribly, terribly wrong. And it had taken hold of him for another night.

The golden thread falls from his fingers as he stands, stool kicked helplessly aside and left forgotten. His fingers, made for thread, no longer happy from its daily activities. He curled his fingers tight, claws bit into flesh. It did not hurt Rumpelstiltskin--the world had taken all from the cursed oone. If this was suffering, then he could fill a world with it.

And as Rumpelstiltskin, snarled and beaten, stood there in the center of the room--a small cup did shine from its' pedestal not too far. He lifted a hand, fingers no longer curled, to press upon his chest. Those eyebrows of his buried deeper, as he stared and stared at this _small, chipped cup_. Belle had dropped that. He had dismissed it, hand in the air and chip on his shoulder, it had been _nothing _to Rumpel then.

It had been _the Queen _that did _this_. Her and her damn mirror and clever words. He should have torn her heart out the day he met her. It would have spared...so much. But that hadn't been his way. He grew too close, too curious, and too willing. In the end, the wicked Queen had proved too good and Belle had been swept up in it all. But that hadn't been how he'd seen it, when..when the kiss occurred, long and deeply and far too much like a dream.

He had blamed the girl, Belle, for it all, taken it too close to heart and shut himself away. This was the Queen, this was Rumpel...if he had just gone after her, hurried...if he had been brave, the bastard nobleman nor Queen would have taken her away. They never would have gotten the chance. He would have torn their hearts from their chests, and set their towns to ash with his hands if he had to. And yet, that was not at all what he had done. He had let himself soften...and merciful and _like before._

Rumpelstiltskin, _the Coward._

Belle was _gone. _She was never coming back. _That_ Belle had gone away and now the monster slept alone. Stone could not warm him. He could not embrace or hug stone. Magic, as much as he craved it, could not fill this space. 

And now all he had was a small, chipped teacup.

A teacup. A teacup was all that was left of her. It was a reminder that stood out like a sore thumb. It was a thorn in his side from the day he learned of Belle's...of Belle...hmf. He didn't care for it anyway. It did not deserve a pedestal, not at all. He had been overwhelmed the day he placed it there and tonight it would be its' last. Such an _ugly little thing_, to be as it was before him. And to think, he had wanted to fix it when she...had been there. And for who?

_For her._

_For Belle, the noble's daughter. _

His steps are bitter and heavy as they made their way right up to it. His hands out, hovering over the defenseless item, ready to come crashing down. He could smash it into pieces and he'd never have to think of her...

_"It's just a cup," _He had said to her then.

Such a small thing...to have been wounded so easily. Belle had been heartbroken over it and it had only been a cup. But now...now Rumpelstiltskin saw what Belle had seen in the cup. And he knew. And he _despised _what he knew. It boiled and boiled until he swallowed for a second time. The bile fell back down and the tension was cut away from him, as if scissors had gone through his being. 

His hands and arms lowered back to his sides with a sigh. Some might have called such a keepsake...sentimental. It had become to almost have a life of it's own, shining differently each time the Sun or Moon struck themselves upon it. He could not smash such a keepsake. The teacup would remain neat and proud upon its' pedestal for another night. This was not the way...not today. 

Somewhere deep down inside the man they called Beast, a thought whispered, "_Or any other day,". _

With that, his shoulders dropped, and the moon shined in through windows, all thanks to Belle touched curtains that had been pulled away from their centuries of slumber. He stepped away once, twice, and again until he was back to his golden thread.

The wheel began to spin again.

And the small, chipped teacup watched.


End file.
